Unto Us a Son is Given
by PepperjackCandy
Summary: A look at what made Lionel the man he is today. For LexSlash 2002 Christmas Contest -- yes, that means there's slash in this, but not CLex this time.


Title: Unto us a Son is Given  
Author: PepperjackCandy  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairings: Clark/Lex (implied), Lionel Luthor/m, Lionel Luthor/Lillian Luthor, Lillian Luthor/f  
Category: Angst, Drama, Romance  
Contest Categories: Best, Romance  
Spoilers for: Cripes. Just about everything up to mid-S2, I guess.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing Smallville-related, or related in any other way to Clark Kent, Superman or any of the various creations of the wonderful folks at DC Comics. The title comes from The Messiah by Georg Friedrich Handel. It's also not my fault that Bruce Wayne's mother's name is Martha.  
  
Feedback: Always welcome, either by e-mail or using the review system at fanfiction.net.   
  
Many thanks to LaCasta for a thorough and speedy beta, especially around the holidays.  
  
A/N: DS and I watched The Messiah on television on Christmas Eve, and I can't get "For Unto us a Child is Born" out of my head. It's an appropriate title in a non-virgin-birth sense, and at least I didn't get "His Yoke is Easy . . ." stuck on constant repeat.  
  
==========  
  
**December 24, 2002, Smallville**  
  
The crackling sound. The feel of the heat, warming his face, his chest, the fronts of his legs. That's all Lionel had to tell him that there was a fire on the hearth. Because he certainly couldn't see it.   
  
He heard Lex come into the room, his steps purposeful, yet somehow still petulant. The tink of the decanter against the glass as Lex tipped it to pour himself some scotch followed.  
  
A brief swallowing sound, then the tap of a key on the phone. "Clark!" Lex said cheerfully, "Sorry, but I'm not going to be able to be there for dinner after all.   
  
"My dad? Nah. Just some work stuff I've got to do.  
  
"Yeah, even on Christmas Eve. Well, have an extra slice of pie for me. Merry Christmas."  
  
He heard Lex's footsteps pacing towards the window as the gusting winds outside beat against it.   
  
The weather reports said that the temperature would drop overnight to a record low of 30 degrees below zero, and Lionel knew what the wind chill could do to that, pushing the temperature even colder, until it felt like your face would freeze solid.  
  
Just like the ice he'd worked so hard to build to shield his son's heart.  
  
"It's going to be too cold to go out anyway." Lionel said.  
  
"You heard that?"  
  
Lionel nodded silently. "You'd get over there all right, but they don't have a heated garage. The gas would freeze in your pipes, and you'd be stuck there overnight."  
  
"Yeah. Well, I guess I'd better get back to that work I told Clark about."  
  
Lionel heard Lex leave the room and picked up the card that sat on the table at his elbow. He didn't need to be able to see it. Martha Kent had read it to him when it arrived, and he'd practically worn out his reader running it over the words again and again.  
  
_Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle Wayne wish to announce the birth of their daughter, Helena Kyle Wayne, on Saturday, December 20, 2002,_ it began. Lionel smiled a little bitterly. It was appropriate that Bruce's child would be born at Christmastime. So many life-changing events happened at this time of year. . . .  
  
**December 24, 1965, Princeton, New Jersey**  
  
"What do we have here?"   
  
Lionel watched the paper in his hands disappear as a hand pulled it out of his grasp.  
  
"More stuff from your broker, eh?"  
  
"Tom, give that back to me."  
  
"Your investments all seem to be doing well; I don't know why you can't take Christmas Eve off. "  
  
"I got this whole box of documents to review, and, well, there's no time like the present, and . . . "  
  
"No rest for the wicked, eh?" Tom teased with a smile. "Come on," he stood and held out his hand for Lionel to take. "You'll have all day tomorrow to look those over, since you've decided not to come to the Wayne family Christmas with me."  
  
Lionel took Tom's hand and stood. "Where are we going?"  
  
"I thought we'd go down to Atlantic City and have sex under the boardwalk."  
  
"What!?!? You're insane! It's 10 below out there!"  
  
Tom laughed, "Kidding! Actually, my Christmas present from my grandfather came in today, and I thought you'd like to check it out with me."  
  
"A new toy?"  
  
"Something like that."   
  
Amusement glimmered in Tom's eyes. Lionel could tell that his lover really wanted to share this with him. And when had Lionel been able to refuse Thomas Wayne anything he really wanted?  
  
***  
  
Lionel's eyes glistened with moisture when he saw Tom's Christmas present. "It's truly a thing of beauty."  
  
"Isn't it?" Tom asked gleefully. "It's a Raytheon King Air 90. Just rolled off the line last week, Grandfather tells me."  
  
Lionel touched the airplane reverently. "I'm going to get one just like this one day."  
  
"No, you won't, Lionel. You'll get something even more excessive." Tom grinned. "I'd hoped you'd help me christen it today."  
  
"You want to take it out? Where do you want to go?" Knowing that Tom wasn't a licensed pilot, Lionel looked around for someone to fly the plane.  
  
"Actually," Tom stepped forward and spoke directly into Lionel's ear in the way that always gave Lionel shivers, "Grandfather's pilot has the day off. I was hoping we'd," he tugged on Lionel's earlobe gently with his teeth, "*christen* it."  
  
"Oh." It took all Lionel had not to break out in a gleeful grin. Forcing his expression as close to impassivity as he could, he said, "let's get to it then."  
  
**December 25, 1968, Gotham City**  
  
"I'm very pleased that Thomas was able to persuade you to join us today, Lionel." Simon Wayne said gruffly as he handed a snifter of brandy to his grandson's lover.  
  
"I'm happy you think so, sir." Lionel answered as he took the snifter, wishing he could stop the tremor in his voice whenever he spoke to the imposing older man.  
  
"Yes. Well, I had something very important I needed to discuss with you both tonight. You both know that I didn't approve of this . . .," he waggled his fingers, "thing you have going on, but you've been together now for nearly five years, and I've come to accept it."  
  
"Thank you, Grandfather," Tom said, genuinely grateful.  
  
"You might not be so quick to thank me when I finish what I have to say to you. I've decided that you need to provide the Wayne family with an heir."  
  
Lionel's heart plummeted and he looked towards Tom, desperate to take his lover's hand as Tom blanched.  
  
"Now, don't get your panties in a twist, Thomas. I said an heir, not a granddaughter-in-law. I know that some people wouldn't approve of such things, but times are changing, and as long as the child is fathered with your seed, I won't require you to maintain any kind of relationship with its mother. You can continue this . . . thing you have going with young Mr. Luthor."  
  
Lionel and Tom looked at each other again, wide-eyed.  
  
"Thank you, Grandfather," Thomas said again.  
  
"Hm. You're welcome," Simon sniffed. "I'll leave the two of you in peace for a while. Dinner will be served at 6:00."  
  
Without another word, Simon Wayne left the room.  
  
The two young men sat in silence for a while.   
  
"That was unexpected," Lionel said.  
  
"Well, you know that Grandfather sets a lot of store by the 'family name.' It stands to reason that he'd do anything he had to to further it. I'm just glad he seems to accept us."  
  
"One thing I can't get over is how your grandfather seems to think of you as just . . . your DNA. I don't think I could ever think about my child like that. Particularly if it was our child." These last six words took him by surprise, even as they exited his mouth.  
  
Tom took Lionel's now-empty snifter from his hand, placing both glasses on the end table as he slid towards his lover for a kiss.  
  
When they finally separated, breathless, Lionel asked, "What do we do now?"  
  
"Well, right now, we go upstairs to get dressed for dinner. After we go back to Stamford? I still have two years of medical school, so I can't believe that Grandfather wants us to rush that much. I'll start putting out some feelers, see if anyone knows anyone who might be willing to have my baby, and we'll see how it goes from there."  
  
**December 25, 1970, Gotham City**  
  
"I'm really glad you've agreed to do this, Martha."   
  
"My baby's at stake here, too." The blonde grinned up at him.  
  
She looked, in a word, radiant, in an evening gown altered to show off her seven-month pregnancy.   
  
He took her hand to show his support as they went to join Lionel in the hallway.  
  
***  
  
"So, you're the young woman my grandson has chosen to give me a great-grandson." Simon Wayne began as the trio joined him in the drawing room.   
  
"I'm very pleased to meet you, sir," Martha responded respectfully.  
  
"We don't know if it's a boy or a girl, grandfather," Tom interrupted.  
  
"Of course it's a boy. Damn scientists thinking they know everything. X chromosomes. Wayne men don't even know what an X chromosome is."  
  
Lionel, Tom and Martha all exchanged amused looks at this.  
  
They were saved from having to make further conversation by Mabel, Simon's maid, calling them in to dinner.  
  
**December 25, 1971, Gotham City**  
  
His first view of his great-grandson had, to everyone's amazement, turned Simon Wayne into a marshmallow. And now, ten months later, the old man was just as besotted as he had ever been.  
  
"I tell you, Lionel, he's the spitting image of my brother Nicholas at this age," Simon beamed, holding Bruce close to his chest.  
  
Tom's brother, Philip, and his wife, Julie, stood off to one side, talking to Tom.   
  
"Way to suck up, Tom." Philip said, indicating their besotted grandfather.  
  
Tom restrained himself from sighing heavily. "If the two of you had been willing to give him a great-grandchild, I wouldn't have had to."  
  
**December 23, 1975, Metropolis**  
  
"Papa! Phone!" Bruce's voice rang out down the hallways of the house Lionel and Tom shared in Metropolis.   
  
Lionel had heard the phone ringing. He couldn't miss it; it was right at his elbow. But he'd been ignoring the sound, hoping it'd stop. It wasn't like it could be anyone important.   
  
The only person of importance who would be able to call, Tom, wasn't likely to. Tom was at the Grand Hotel with Martha, making another attempt at conceiving a child for Martha and her lover, Lillian, to raise together.  
  
Finally, on the sixth ring, Lionel sighed and answered. "Luthor/Wayne residence."  
  
"May I speak to Lionel Luthor?" A gruff male voice on the other end asked.  
  
"This is he."  
  
"This is Monty Burns with the Metropolis Police Department."  
  
"Papa?" Bruce asked as he came into the room.   
  
Lionel motioned for his son to be quiet.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Thomas Wayne was in an accident this evening."  
  
Lionel's heart seized up. "How is he?" He asked, feeling his hands grow numb as he gripped the receiver tightly.  
  
"Mr. Wayne was killed."  
  
"Oh, God." _I must be strong. Can't lose it in front of Bruce._ He chanted to himself.   
  
"What's wrong?" Bruce asked.  
  
"We'll be sending the body to the mortuary of Mr. Wayne's choice. Which mortuary, if any, had he requested?"  
  
"West-Avebury," Lionel answered without further explanation, hoping he wouldn't have to add more where Bruce could hear.  
  
"I know the one. You should go to see Mr. West tomorrow morning to make arrangements."  
  
"Yes. I will. Thank you."  
  
Lionel hung up the phone. _What the hell do I tell Bruce?_ He held out his hands, pulling his four year old son up onto his lap.  
  
"That was about Daddy," Lionel began haltingly.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Something . . . something's happened to him, and he won't be coming home anymore."  
  
Bruce furrowed his brow, "You mean it'll just be you and me from now on?"  
  
Lionel nodded.  
  
"All right," Bruce said in a acquiescent tone. "As long as you'll be there."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere," Lionel vowed, pulling Bruce closer to his chest.  
  
**December 26, 1975, West-Avebury Funeral Home, Metropolis**  
  
It had been difficult scheduling a funeral during the Christmas season, but soon enough, Lionel was at the West-Avebury funeral home, greeting those who knew him and accepting their condolences graciously, wishing they did something to heal the ache in his heart.  
  
_At least I still have Bruce,_ he consoled himself. _The best thing Tom and I ever did was arrange for Martha to give us that boy. He gives me the strength to hold it together._  
  
Unwilling to add to an already-stressful situation, Lionel had given up the role of chief mourner to Philip, Simon Wayne having died in 1974.   
  
A man and a woman in suits came in and spoke to Philip in a way that clearly didn't indicate that they were fellow mourners. The trio huddled together a moment, then Philip pointed towards Lionel.  
  
The man and woman approached him. "Lionel Luthor?" The man asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
The man held out a piece of paper for Lionel to take. His hands trembling, Lionel took the sheet of paper. The words _Court Order_ were written at the top of the page.  
  
"We're from Carmichael, Carstairs and Carson," the man said. "This is a court order for you to give up custody of one Bruce Lewis Wayne to Philip Wayne."  
  
"What?!?" Lionel shouted louder than he intended, drawing the attention of several of the mourners around them. "You can't do that! He's my son!"  
  
Philip slid up to them, smirking. "We most certainly can, Lionel. He's not your blood, he's not yours legally. Your . . . relationship with my brother was unnatural and disgusting, and no court in the country would give you custody based on it. So Bruce is mine, now."  
  
Lionel saw the truth of this. "All right. But let me tell Bruce, please."  
  
The attorneys looked at Philip who shrugged. "If you have to."   
  
"Bruce and his nanny are out in the lobby. I'll go speak to him. Give us two minutes alone, and then you can have him."  
  
They nodded, and Lionel, knowing the two minutes would start then, walked as quickly as was seemly to the lobby.   
  
He found Bruce sitting on one of the couches, reading a book. "Is the fun'ral starting?" Bruce asked, looking up at him.   
  
Lionel shook his head and sat down next to him. "No. I just needed to talk to you about something." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a red-haired woman watching him. He met her eyes, and when she looked away, turned his attention back to Bruce.  
  
"You won't be coming home with me after the funeral," he told his son. "From now on, you'll be living with your Uncle Philip."  
  
"No!" Bruce almost shouted. "I won't go to live with him. He's stinky and he hates me."  
  
Lionel sighed, "I wish I could stop him, but I can't. You . . . you belong with him."  
  
Bruce turned stricken eyes up to his father. "No I don't. I belong with you."  
  
"You don't know how much I wish you did," Lionel said, as he caught sight of Philip and the attorneys lingering in the doorway of the salon.  
  
"You don't know how much I wish you did," he repeated, pulling Bruce towards him for a hug. He kissed Bruce on the top of the head. "Your Uncle Philip's waiting for you."  
  
"I . . . won't." Bruce said, petulantly.  
  
"You will." Lionel responded firmly, his heart breaking. "You will do what you have to do, and that's go to your Uncle Philip. And you will do it with the dignity befitting a Luthor."  
  
"Yes, Papa," Bruce said as Lionel released him. Reluctantly, Bruce stood, picking up his book.  
  
"Now, go." Lionel prompted.  
  
As he watched his son walking away from him, Lionel vowed that some day he'd have power; the kind of power he'd need so that no one ever took anything he loved away from him again.  
  
He watched as Philip introduced Bruce to the attorneys, and as the attorneys left the funeral home, Bruce in tow.  
  
_At least they could have let him say good-bye to Tom._   
  
Lionel stood, about to cross the room and give Philip a piece of his mind, when he saw the red-haired woman watching him again.  
  
"May I help you?" He asked her, covering his embarrassment at having been seen at such a vulnerable moment with belligerence.  
  
"I'm Lillian McGraw," she began.  
  
"Martha's . . . " Lionel left the words hanging, in deference to the fact that they were in a public place.  
  
"Lover, yes." Lillian said. "I came to give you this," she held out her hand, in which was a small lock of blonde hair. Hair the color of Martha's.  
  
"Why are you giving this to me?"  
  
"I wanted to give it to you to give to Bruce. He won't ever be able to get to know his biological mother, and . . ."  
  
"You can give it to Philip Wayne." Lionel interrupted. "As you know, I have nothing to do with Bruce anymore."  
  
"I think I'll give it to you, anyhow," Lillian insisted. "Who knows what the future holds? Maybe you'll find a time to give it to him later."  
  
Lionel looked at her askance.   
  
She smiled at him warmly, holding out the lock of hair.  
  
"Thank you," he said gruffly, taking the lock of blonde hair. He wondered briefly where he could keep it that would be safe, finally pulling his pocket watch out and flipping the lid open. He tucked the lock of hair inside the lid, snapping it closed.  
  
"You're welcome," Lillian responded. "I really didn't know Mr. Wayne very well, so I'd better be going." She started to walk away.  
  
"Miss McGraw," Lionel called out.  
  
She stopped, turning to face him.  
  
He pulled one of his business cards out of his pocket. "Here's my phone number. I didn't know Martha well, but I did know her, and if you need to talk anytime . . ."  
  
She took it. "Thank you, Mr. Luthor."  
  
"Please. Call me Lionel."  
  
**December 24, 1976, the Metropole restaurant, Metropolis**  
  
"How are you holding up?" Lillian asked once the waiter took their drink orders.  
  
"As well as can be expected," Lionel shrugged his shoulders dismissively. In all honesty, though, he missed Tom and Bruce every time he let himself think about them. Which is why he didn't let himself think about them very often, filling the void with work.  
  
"You?" He asked to be polite.  
  
She shrugged as well, "What can I say? I miss Martha. I miss the child we would have had. I think my biological clock is going off." She chuckled mirthlessly.  
  
"You've been keeping busy, I hear," Lillian said, changing the subject.  
  
"Yes. Well, I've decided that I'm not going to get anywhere by staying at Tyler Chemical, so I've struck out on my own. I'm going into agriculture. Agricultural chemicals, that is, fertilizers, pesticides, that sort of thing," he clarified quickly.  
  
"Somehow I didn't see you as a farmer," she grinned.  
  
"No. That wouldn't even begin to give me the things I want."  
  
"Which are?"  
  
"The same things everyone wants. Money. Power."  
  
"Not *everyone* wants those things, Lionel."  
  
"I don't want them for their own sake, but for the things they can do for me, like protecting my family." He clenched his jaw tightly. "No one will ever take a child from me again."  
  
**December 26, 1977, Metropole restaurant, Metropolis**  
  
"We meet again," Lillian said as she sat down at their table.  
  
"Actually, I was thinking we could make this a regular thing."  
  
"Annually?"  
  
"More often than that," Lionel slid a box across the table to her.  
  
Lillian looked down at it, then up at Lionel.   
  
"Open it." He prompted her.  
  
She did, and inside was the largest diamond solitaire ring she'd ever seen. "Lionel!"  
  
"You're not seeing anyone, are you?"  
  
"Well, no, but . . ."  
  
"Both of our families were taken from us, so isn't it fitting that we should try to get that back? Together?"  
  
"You make a very persuasive argument, Lionel."  
  
"Then concede defeat. Agree to marry me."  
  
**December 24, 1978, Christ Episcopal Church, Metropolis**  
  
"Lillian, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."  
  
"Now that Lionel and Lillian have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  
  
"Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder.  
  
"Amen."  
  
**December 25, 1980, Metropolis Heights**  
  
"He's absolutely beautiful, Lillian. And well worth the wait." Lionel smiled to take the sting out of his words. They had a difficult time conceiving, finally conceiving Alexander Joseph, to be dubbed 'Lex' for short, on their first anniversary.  
  
Lionel looked down at his sleeping three-month-old son. _Finally, a son that no one can take from me. Someone to mold into the same perfect child that Bruce was._  
  
He smiled up at Lillian, "I have an extra present for you. I bought this the morning after Lex was born, and, well, somehow I managed to wait this long to give it to you."  
  
He pulled the jewelry box out of his pocket, holding it out to her with trembling hands.  
  
She looked at him curiously, her curiosity turning to wonder as she pulled out the diamond studded eternity band. "Lionel! It's beautiful!"  
  
"I'm glad you like it," Lionel said. "My mother always used to complain about trying to wear both a wedding and an engagement ring while raising a baby, so I figured that, if you want, you can put your engagement ring and wedding band in the vault for Lex's wife, and you could just wear this."  
  
Tears shone in her eyes. "I'll never take it off." She promised as she slipped the diamond solitaire and plain gold band into her right hand, replacing them with the eternity band.  
  
"Don't go making rash promises like that," he admonished her. "It's enough that you like it."  
  
"I love it. I love you," she leaned in to kiss him.  
  
He kissed her back, passionately, _She loves me. And I . . . I love her, too,_ he wondered if he should feel like he was betraying Tom, but quickly dismissed the thought.  
  
He pulled back from her. "Why don't you put Lex to bed, and then we can . . . go to bed, too?"  
  
She smiled at him. "I'll be right back." She whispered as she stood.  
  
She walked to the base of the stairs, and then stopped. "Lionel, I don't feel . . . ."  
  
With that, she crumpled to the ground.  
  
**December 26, 1980, Metropolis General Hospital, Metropolis**  
  
"Your son is fine, Mr. Luthor," the emergency room doctor assured him.  
  
Lionel let out half of the breath he'd been holding. "And Lillian?"  
  
"She's not doing so well, I'm afraid. We don't have anything about her heart condition on her record here at Metropolis General."  
  
"Heart condition?" Lionel asked, horrified.  
  
"Yes. From the look of the EKG, she's got quite a bit of damage to her heart. Has she been under any exertion lately?"  
  
"No."  
  
"But she gave birth to a child, your son, just three months ago."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Did she have any kind of medication?"  
  
"For the delivery? No. It was completely natural. She wanted it that way."  
  
"That places a great deal of stress on the body. She may have caused more damage to her heart then, and it just gave out last night."  
  
"She'll be all right, though, won't she?"  
  
"Yes. She'll be fine. She'll have to take it easy for a couple of weeks, but frankly, the damage this heart attack caused is probably very minor, compared to the damage that was there beforehand. Ah, here's the nurse with little Alexander."  
  
Lionel took Lex from the nurse's arms, and was shocked when his first thought was, _If it wasn't for you, my wife wouldn't be in the hospital._  
  
**December 20, 1983, LuthorCorp Christmas Party, Metropole Hotel, Metropolis**  
  
"You put in long hours, and it paid off. Thank you for helping me make this LuthorCorp's most profitable year ever."  
  
Lionel toasted his employees.  
  
"And, before the holiday party really gets going, I have one more announcement. We have entered into a definitive agreement to purchase a fertilizer plant in Edge City, and if our projections are accurate, we will be able to acquire a third fertilizer plant by the year 1990."  
  
The employees applauded wildly, as he had expected them to. In that simple statement, he had guaranteed them job security forever. Or at least, whatever forever means in business terms.  
  
He looked over at Lillian and Lex. _I'm doing this all for you,_ he promised them silently, _the long hours, the missed holidays. It's all for the two of you._  
  
**December 23, 1989, Metropolis General Hospital, Metropolis**  
  
True to his prediction, Lionel had expanded into a third fertilizer plant by 1990. He'd had to buy a creamed corn factory and convert it into a fertilizer plant, but by God, he'd done it.  
  
_Take Lex with you, Lionel,_ Lillian had prompted. _You hardly ever see him anymore._  
  
So he took Lex along to finish his due diligence on the factory. October 25. A day Lionel would never forget as long as he lived. The day Lex had almost died.  
  
But that was enough of that. Lex was fine. In fact, he was getting out of the hospital in plenty of time for Christmas. Lionel grasped the yellow slip of paper in his hand as he walked up to the cashier's window.  
  
"I'm here to release Alexander Luthor." He said hoarsely.  
  
The woman behind the counter looked him up and down once. "You're . . . ."  
  
"Yes, I'm Lionel Luthor. I'm his *father.* It's my right to pick him up if I want." He felt his hackles rise and realized that it was long-buried anger over losing Bruce.   
  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Luthor," the clerk said in a tone that indicated that she really wasn't very sorry at all. "Your insurance will cover most of it. All you have to pay today is the extra $40 per day for the private room, so that'll be $2400."   
  
Lionel squashed down his thoughts of Bruce and handed her his credit card. _I had no idea that Lex was so . . . weak.   
  
They took Bruce from me,_ the treacherous thoughts returned, _because I wasn't his biological or legal father, but I am Lex's father, both biologically and legally. I have to *be* a father. Lillian was right._  
  
"Sign here, Mr. Luthor."  
  
Lionel signed. _I'll have to start doing things with the boy, teach him how to be a man. First thing to teach him is that nothing but trouble can come of accepting your lot as being determined by the "gods."_   
  
He mentally ran through his DayTimer, _Once I get back from Japan. I'll get The Iliad and some kind of model for him before I go, and when I come back, I'll explain how Paris's blind acceptance of Aphrodite's 'gift' set him up for tragedy . . . ._  
  
**December 25, 2002, Castle Luthor, Smallville**  
  
"Dad? Are you still up?"  
  
Lionel was jerked back to the present by Lex's voice. "What time is it?"  
  
"Nine o'clock. A.M."  
  
"Really? I just got to reminiscing, and lost track of time, I guess," he chuckled. He realized that he was still holding the birth announcement and surreptitiously slipped it into his jacket pocket.  
  
"Reminiscing? About what?"  
  
"Oh, this and that, you know," he paused. "Son, I just wanted to say that I . . . " _am sorry I left so much unsaid between us; made so many mistakes; concentrated on building an empire, rather than a family; can't say what I so desperately want to say,_ " . . . 'm going to be heading back to Metropolis until after the first of the year."  
  
"Really?" Lex sounded skeptical.  
  
Lionel nodded. "You go call the Kents and tell them that you'll be over to spend Christmas day with them, and run down to the cellar for a bottle of wine for a hostess gift. By the time you get back here, the helicopter will already be on the way for me."  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"Yes. Now go." He said it sternly, but meant it with more affection than he'd meant anything in a long time. "I've got business in Metropolis to take care of," he brushed his hand across the stiffness of the birth announcement in his pocket, feeling his pocket watch as he did so, "and I might make a side-trip to Gotham while I'm out and about, too."


End file.
